


Fluid

by Gyakugire



Category: Death Note
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Drug Abuse, Gender Dysphoria, Hitman AU, M/M, Mental Instability, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 13:44:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8847322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gyakugire/pseuds/Gyakugire
Summary: "In their college apartment, two of their roommates huddled up on the couch watching Seinfeld reruns, Matt dragged Mello into their bedroom. His face, a sickly white, shone haggard against their shitty lighting. Deathly sick. Matt wanted to forget, fumbling with Mello’s waistband so frantically that he couldn’t even get the button undone."





	1. Beginnings

Kissing a murderer felt like kissing anyone else. 

B tasted like cheap cigarettes and convenience store snacks. At the feet of Mello’s scuffed up boots was a wrapper from a six pack of powdered donuts, and tootsie roll pop wrappers crumpled up into tiny, colored balls. His high school diploma sat in his lap, tucked in a fake leather book. 

_Mihael Keehl, Class of 2007._

Beyond had a year of college left to go. Criminal Justice, the top of his class. 

It was a gift, more or less. Or a game. Mello liked the latter better. Graduation robe rolled into a ball in the back, it sparkled cheap blue satin and yellow strings. He rode shotgun in B’s beat up Toyota, kicked his feet up onto the dashboard, and let his head loll lifelessly against his shoulder. 

“Just once.” Beyond’s voice was a mix of high and quiet, tumbling out of his lips with a grace that was all too friendly and all too captivating. Mello adored him. From the day they’d met, he’d adored him. Volatile, manipulatively friendly. Charming in the most horrendous way possible.

Beyond had him wrapped around his fingers. 

Anything he wanted, Mello would do.

_Anything to feel your eyes on me._

Mello, simply, wanted to be just like him.

“Once is enough,” Mello agreed. In his middle, his gut twisted with an electric anticipation. They drove in sweet, delightfully apprehensive silence, with B’s hand on his knee and the other on the leather steering wheel. He squeezed, and Mello’s breath caught in his throat. 

At this age, that sort of shit went straight to his groin. Between his legs, his cock throbbed hot, hard, pressing to the side with a more than noticeable outline behind his skinny jeans. If B could see, he didn’t say anything.

“Here’s fine.”

_Anywhere’s fine_.

It’s not that it’s B, it’s that it’s the thrill. Or so, Mello tells himself.

He was hopelessly, horrifically in love. 

“Okay.” 

They kissed on the side of the road, a few hundred feet from the next street light. Mello melted into him, and B was tense, his fingers digging into skin tight pants and bony knees. Sickly sweet, ash on his tongue and fire in his lungs. B waxed and Mello waned. Young, rushing with hormones and cheeks flushed so red he could feel his skin prickling, Mello jolted, and grabbed at B’s crotch. His fingertips registered heat, lust, a stiffness that had him groaning with a wicked, far from innocent need. 

Lips broke, sharp inhales through their noses. B exhaled over Mello’s lips, flame lighting gasoline desire between his legs. “ _Please_.” _I want to be enough for you._

_I want you to think I’m good enough for you._

_I want to be perfect for you_.

“Enough,” Beyond hummed, tugging reluctant fingers away from his body. Hand locked with Mello’s, he gave a brush of lips over throat, an air of finality seeping through Mello’s pulse.   
“Once is enough.”

_God, don’t I fucking love you_.

 ~

Mello sat outside of the state prison, heart in his stomach and hands in his pockets. The arrest and the trial had become a blurred mess, newspapers with bold black headlines, pictures of Beyond’s face, horridly out of character, wide eyed, traumatized. Hands searched up his legs, too close to his pelvis, around his waist, up his shirt. 

In the prison, he found that no food was available. Only shitty coffee that rolled around burnt on his tongue, and a rusted fountain for water. He’d forgotten to eat before he came, and now his stomach rumbled with an uncomfortable, distracting emptiness.

Inside, behind perforated glass, dressed in denim pants and a faded white shirt, Beyond waited. His ear rested against the telephone, and Mello picked his own end up, spreading fingers over glass. “Didn’t think you’d come by.”

“Me neither.”

B’s hand spread against his. Frigid glass that Mello could not for the life of him imagine hot with touch. “You didn’t even put up a fight.” 

“We all know who did it.”

“Of course.”

“You’ll start school next week.”

Mello grinned. “Yeah.” And Beyond, one year to go on his degree, sat behind bars for the rest of his life. He’d been lucky—it was two votes away from the chair, and he fucking _knew_ it. Each step was full of spite. Each with the knowledge that he, for now, had cheated death. He licked his lips, and they shone with spit, teeth gleaming behind his wide, stretched lips.

Still, Mello adored him.

But there wasn’t a moment that he didn’t believe Beyond had murdered those people. He had it in him—hell, _Mello_ had it in him.

They’d found that out the hard way. Beyond tapped his fingers against the counter, leaning harder into the phone . “You got yourself a girl for the year?” 

“Hardly.”

“Nice. Should keep it that way.”

“No need to be jealous.”

“Of you? Never.”

Mello scoffed. “As if you’d have reason to.”As if Beyond wasn’t trapped inside of these walls until he finally kicked it. 

B told him he exercised because prison food would make him fat. That he used the bar above his bed to do pull ups, and hooked his feet under the mattress to do crunches and sit ups. “What’ll you do?” he asked, and Beyond shrugged.

“I’ll work.”

“And then?”

“We’ll see, once I’m bored of it.”

“I’ll visit again, in a couple weeks.”

B grinned, ear to ear. “Don’t rush it, kid.”

Their time was up, and with a final push against the glass, B was gone. 

~

Power was everything. Mello realized this on the flooring of his university’s gym, nose pouring blood and victory in his veins. A basketball scrimmage gone wrong, he’d taken a fist to the gut and gave back a kick to the face. 

He and his opponent, immediately, were kicked off of the team. Like he could give a fuck. Mello’d seen the fear, the _apprehension_ in the other player’s eyes. A taste of something luxuriously addicting. He may’ve graduated with high honors, but human was human, and the idea of making something _hurt_ , making another creature _suffer_ seemed so tantalizingly illicit that he couldn’t resist.

Mello was brilliant, not perfect. 

The rush had his cock hard and his heart pounding with a rush, a sensation that he’d _never_ felt before.

B, in the back of his mind, twisted his mouth into that wicked grin. _Yeah,_ he would’ve said. _Doesn’t that shit feel good_?

In his dormitory, locked away in the suite’s bathroom, he jammed his hand down his pants and stroked himself until he came with the hint of a gasp on his lips. 

What it would be like, to be unstoppable.

_You would be proud of me._

_Wouldn’t you_?

He washed his hands, dried them on a dingy washcloth that sat beside the sink, and ran his fingers through his hair. Long, blond hair that sat in the middle of his back. He’d grown it out for years, straightened it, kept it _perfect_.

He, so many people had told him, was ethereal.

Mello couldn’t see it, with his freaky eyes and his nasty disposition, but at least he could pretend. 

~

Matt didn’t have much of anything to do in high school. His first kiss came sophomore year, with more ambivalence than he could ever imagine. It wasn’t until college, with the introduction of colored pills and bottles of alcohol that had his memory wiped clean, that he found some sort of comfort.

And if getting fucked up could be a hobby, then it was something he’d own until the day he died. 

It helped, to quiet a voice in the back of his head. Something that always told him he wasn’t quite right, didn’t look quite well. A body, stuffed in clothes that looked no good, and a face that he wished he could tear off and paint on exactly the way he wanted. 

Drunk, sitting on his bathroom floor, Matt found solace in a five dollar eyeshadow palette, and a tube of eyeliner that was a little too hard to put on, and left crooked lines around his eyes.

It was nothing great, but it was certainly an improvement.

He could never wear it in public. But makeup led to clothing—lace bralettes, underwear that sat soft and close to his body beneath his jeans. That, he could control. Something to make him feel right. To make him feel like he belonged where he was.

But in all of it, he was stuck.

Not quite a man, and not quite a woman. Matt, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out what he wanted to be.

From the back of the gym, Matt watched a wrestling match that teetered on the edge of a fistfight. A blond boy with a striking form and an even more striking rage caught Matt’s eye, fumbling around on the ground for a chance at control.

Matt, docile for most of his life, felt a flame in his chest, telling him to try the same damned thing.

After the match, high from one edible too many, Matt stumbled through the locker rooms and found the boy, and grinned. “Damn, you can fight like all hell.”

He laughed, and his ice blue eyes seemed to stare right through everything they settled on. “I know.”

Matt couldn’t ask for anything more. 

 ~

Matt was ridiculous. Utterly careless. Mello would spot him on the way to class perched on one of the steps before the door with a cigarette pinched between his lips. Every morning, he would smile at Mello and give a brisk wave. His denim jacket hung on his shoulders, and his frame practically swam in it.

Mello wasn’t particularly interested. 

Matt, with his messy hair and his ratty clothes, looked like a fucking wreck. Sloppy, he smoked cigarettes in front of the school and had a look to him that said he’d try just about anything that someone put in front of him. That was more of a liability than a thrill.

Matt, on the other hand, found it lovely. Addicting. Two months in, there was always a cigarette pinched between his fingers, always had some substance running through his veins. Not a result of peer pressure, but curiosity. He loved the way nicotine lingered on his hand, and the scent of cigarettes quickly became a comfort. Stressed? Smoke. Couldn’t sleep? Smoke. Passed his test? Smoke. There was always a reason, decent or not, and Matt took every opportunity. 

After all, he was just glad he made it to eighteen, so what the hell were a few smokes to him? Feathery, his hair jutted out in every direction. Some parts curled, some flattened to his head. Truly, he hated how he looked. But he tried to work with what he had, smoothing his hair down to try and get some semblance of neatness. 

Always, though, whether it be in parties or in class, someone had their hands in his hair, messing it all back up again.

~

Mello’d used to be in the mafia.

That’s what all the fuckers at school would tell Matt. A few drinks in, it’d be, _Hey, Matt. You see that faggy lookin’ guy over there? Used to be in the family. Killed a guy once, I heard. And he looks like_ that _. Can you believe?  
_ Matt was drunk—piss drunk—so he yanked himself off of the couch, stumbled over the leg of the coffee table that somehow managed to jump in front of him, and slammed himself into the wall right next to him. Icy blue eyes. They should have been hot. They looked terrifying. His hair was long, _really_ fucking long, braided tight and draped over his shoulder to dangle against his chest. “Hey,” he slurred, and the boy rose a brow. Unamused. Borderline uninterested. 

Matt looked like a slob.

“Uhuh?” 

“You used to be in the mob?”

“Sure.” He sipped his beer, and Matt’s eyes blew wide. Even with his glasses fixed over his eyes, he looked trashed. One foot knocked against the other, and he was using the wall for support while simultaneously trying to lean against it in an attempt to look appealing.

Judging by Mello's face, it wasn’t going well. His chest heaved with intoxication, and he drank so much that he couldn’t even feel his tongue. “Wait, but…how’d you leave, then? Can’t just quit, right?”

Mello shrugged. “Can’t come after you if they’re six feet under,” he hummed, and blew a mouthful of air into the rim of his bottle. 

Matt laughed.

His acquaintance stared straight at him. No twitching on his face, no indication of a joke. Same as he’d been in the locker room.

Oh.

Matt coughed into his elbow, and swallowed. “Uh, can I get you a drink?” 

“The fuck’s your name?”

“Matt.”

“Jesus Christ, that’s just about as boring as you are.”

“I like your hair.”

“Why, ‘cause it reminds you of a girl?” Mello sneered, a show of mockery tainted with bitterness.

Matt laughed, and rolled his neck. “Not at all.” Suave. He almost snorted. Hardly. He could barely even see straight.

Three drinks later, Matt leaned in for a kiss, and puked all over his own shoes. 

~

Matt blinked his eyes open, caught in a haze that couldn’t quite yet be classified as consciousness. The floor was a comforting cool, his cheek pressed to linoleum tiling and a thin blanket draped over his legs. A blanket that, by no means, belonged to him. And this floor, certainly, did not belong to him.

“Nice thong.”

God _damn it_.

“I need to go.” Matt scrambled to his feet, trying to pull _something_ , anything over himself for some sense of modesty. But Mello was staring right at him. Hell, he’d already seen everything.

God, that made Matt want to die.

“What the hell are you getting so fucking sensitive over? I _said_ I liked it, didn’t I?” Mello snapped back, and that had Matt spinning around all over again, the blanket still tight around his waist. 

“Why the fuck’d you take my clothes off?” The more his head spun, the more Matt started to convince himself that he still might have been a little drunk.

“Oh no, you _insisted_ on taking everything off. That’s not going on me, man.”

Words were so far out of Matt’s reach that he was reduced to helpless silence. He stared at Mello, wide eyed and horrified, trapped in the consequences of his own drunken actions.

“You puked all over yourself at the frat party, and no one else wanted to take your sorry ass home.” 

“But my clothes—“

“In a bag in the bathroom.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“How did I…”

“Get yourself to shower while you were black out drunk?”

“Yeah.”

“You wanted to fuck, and I said I didn’t wanna let someone that smelled like puke touch my ass.” Mello laughed to himself, eyes still on the ceiling. “And no, we didn’t. You fell asleep right there after you got out.”

_What the fuck._

“I’m _so_ sorry.” Sorry couldn’t cover it. Sorry couldn’t even _begin_ to cover it. 

“It’s fine. The thong was a nice touch, though.”

“Shut _up_ , it wasn’t _for_ that.”

“Oh, so you wear them all the time?”

“ _No_.”

“Sure.” Mello sighed. “I don’t know why you’re getting fucking defensive. I said you look good in it. You think I give a fuck what you wear to cover your balls?”

Matt just wanted to go home. But rain pattered against the windowsill, and his own dormitory was a good twenty minute walk away. On top of that, his clothes were covered in vomit, and leaving meant having to either wash them, or borrowing something from Mello.

“I…I…”

“ ‘I…I…’ What? Jesus Christ, I’ll give you something to wear, and we can grab something to eat.”

“I don’t…” _want to_. But Matt realized, more and more, that he didn’t have much choice in the matter. And besides, he told himself. It was just breakfast. Or lunch. He looked around for a clock. The sun was harsh against the windows, but gave no indication of the time. “Yeah. Sure.”

“God, you’re real fucking quiet when you’re sober, aren’t you?”

Matt shrugged, and Mello pulled an old t-shirt and sweatpants from his closet.

“Do you wanna be a girl?” Fucking crass. Mello stared at him with wide, curious eyes. Half taunting, half with genuine interest. But how could Matt answer that with even the slightest air of relaxation?

“I…no, _no_ , it’s not like that, I—“

“What? You’re wearing girls underwear. And you have makeup in your bag. You got a girlfriend?”

“ _No_.” Matt swallowed thick. “I…don’t know.”

“You don’t know if you’re a boy or a girl?”

“No.”

Mello sighed, rolled his shoulders, and tossed the clothes in Matt’s direction. “Don’t get yourself so worked up. I don’t give a shit either way.” Matt wanted to ask _why_. _Why_ wasn’t something like that a huge deal?

“But—“

“Man, it’s not my fucking business, I was just curious. Do what you fucking want.”

Matt swallowed, and tried to smile without a quiver to his lips.

~ 

In the cafeteria, Mello eyed him over his bowl of cereal. “You don’t want to now?”

“Huh?”

“You didn’t ask to fuck me this morning,” Mello said flatly, but his lips were curled into a smile that’s hardly comforting. He knew he was pushing Matt’s buttons, and watched for any bit of a reaction he could tug out of him. 

Matt couldn’t remember the last time he’d fucked anybody sober. He shoveled Mini Wheats into his mouth, eyes glued to the tinted milk in the bottom of his bowl.“I didn’t mean to ask in the first place.” Of all the things he could’ve done, this was God damned stupid. Puked all over himself, and landed himself with the only guy in the entire school that he _knew_ wouldn’t hesitate to beat the shit out of him. All over a drunken attempt at a kiss. 

“For someone that’ll get themselves so fucked up, you don’t have much to say for yourself.” Mello sighed, and propped his chin up on his elbow. “What, I’m not pretty when you don’t have a few drinks in you?” He was teasing. Matt should have known he was teasing. But his throat closed up, and his palms pricked with sweat and less than latent fear. 

Wasn’t that the truth. But like Mello, Matt had the capability for violence. Something that stewed itself inside of him, always hidden, always deep beneath that lax exterior that kept him out of trouble. But now, that was covered with thick apprehension and anxiety. “I…no, I didn’t say that, I just…” To say he was nervous would have been an understatement. 

“You’re self conscious.” _Embarrassed_.

Every time he opened his mouth, Mello got him right through the chest. Matt could be read like an open book, spread out and left to fucking die. Completely exposed, embarrassment had his face burning red and his hands knotting themselves together on his lap. 

He couldn’t eat any more. 

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Mello said with a hum, “If you want to, it doesn’t make a difference to me.” 

Underneath the table, his toes brushed Matt’s ankle, then up his calf. Matt’s fingers grasped his spoon until his knuckles turned white, and he tried to focus on anything but the throbbing between his legs. 

 ~

Mello was as aggressive in bed as he was in his fights. Drunk all over again, Matt’s senses were only dully aware of fingers jamming themselves into his mouth.Matt gagged, and spit coated his chapped lips and staining his chin. He felt good, _lovely_ , his cock straining painful between his legs. Lust turned heated, trapping him beneath Mello, made pliable by desire. “If you’re gagging around that, what’re you gonna do with my dick?”

All Matt could do was moan. 

“You want me to fuck you like a girl?” Mello whispered, pressing their lips together in a kiss that tasted of muted need and cruel fascination. Mello bit his lower lip, sinking teeth in against wet flesh. A sign of dominance, control. Matt moaned, and tried to buck his hips against Mello’s. Too fucking _hard_. That alone was enough to push him over the edge. A hand, a mouth, anything on his cock would send him teetering over, twitching and writhing beneath this wonderful boy with piercing, ice blue eyes. 

“I’d fuck you nice, that way. I’d take care of you and touch you like you’re glass.” Gentle. Matt laughed, shivering at the teeth that grazed his throat. Mello could be that. He could be kind and wonderful and everything welcoming. That, though, was not what Matt was looking for. He wanted to _hurt_ , grotesque humiliation that would pool in his gut while Mello pushed him around and fucked the hell out of him like a doll. Matt wanted a cruel, mind numbing fuck that had his legs sore and marks all over his chest. 

“No.” 

“No?” Mello purred, and Matt fumbled with his zipper. Eager intoxication that had him horny as all hell. In an instant, Mello’s hand snapped around his throat, pinning him down to the bed with a force that had the breath fluttering out of his lungs and another surge right to his dick. “This is what you want, then?’   
_Yes. Yes this is everything I want_. “More,” Matt rasped off of his ash stained tongue.

“Christ, aren’t you into some fucked up shit.” His eyes traveled down, to the straining between Matt’s legs, and the fluttering breaths that had his chest heaving. Control was intoxicating. “Touch yourself.”

Matt shook his head and Mello scoffed, jolting his hips to jam himself further down Matt’s throat. He gagged around him, and Mello groaned, tilting his head back with hazy satisfaction.“ _No_? What the fuck’re you holding out for? You’re cock’s not getting anywhere close to inside of me.”

“Come on, I know you’ll finish fucking fast, won’t you?’

Matt pumped himself, only a few rotations of his wrist before he was spilling all over his stomach, come dripping down to the dip in his hipbones and making his stomach tingle with an exhausted satisfaction.

His mouth tasted of Mello, and his cock twitched, falling limp in his hand. _More_. He had to have looked grotesque, spit dripping down his chin and his lips a swollen red, stretched around Mello’s cock. Hands balanced against the wall, Mello fucked his throat, hips snapping to his face and cock buried deep in his mouth. 

“Oh fuck.” Mello jerked back, messing Matt’s face and hair up with streaks of white. “Fuck…Fuck, your tongue’s good,” he shivered, and pulled back, sinking his hips down to sit on Matt’s lap. 

Matt’s chest heaved, trying to catch his breath. Mello shuddered, and grinned. “You’re so fucking good at taking it.” He mashed their lips together, a kiss that tasted of come. “God, look at how pretty you are.” As if pretty could describe the mess beneath him. Matt’s lips glowed a swollen red, while his eyes sat wide, darting over the curve of Mello’s face. 

It had Matt’s chest swelling. A distorted pride that made him want Mello, made him want anything he could give him. 

 ~

Outside of sex, Matt couldn’t comprehend the idea that Mello enjoyed his company. After their drunken escapades, he received a slew of text messages a few days later. One inviting him to lunch, and another to the match next weekend. 

Embarrassment told him to ignore it. But Mello was beautiful—one hell of a bastard, sure—and when the hell would he have another chance to meet someone like this? 

“You know Sayu?” 

“Yeah,” Mello grunted over a half finished glass of vodka and soda, his piece of lime mashed to bits in the middle of half melted ice.

“Dunno. I might ask her out.”

Mello’s lip twisted, eyes a dark, disgusted black. “Don’t.”

“Why? Is she a bitch?” Mello, hardly, could be a judge of personality. But still, Matt, smoking away, wanted to hear his side of it. If nothing else, it would be amusing. He cocked his head to the side, and caught narrowed, ice blue eyes baring into him.

“No, she’s fine.” His voice hardly reassured Matt.  
“So?” He couldn’t drop anything. Always, he had to push, and Mello would be no exception to that. Mello’s upper lip curled, flashing the hint of teeth and definite malice.

“I want to date you.” 

_And you’re giving me that face_?

That had Matt sputtering his vodka and orange juice back into his cup. Laughter bubbled up past Matt’s lips, until tears came leaking from his eyes and his sides ached the longer he went on. “Don’t fucking joke like that when I’ve got shit in my mouth.” 

“I’m not joking.”

“You look like you wanna kill me.”

For an instant, the scowl flickered to a smile, and then back. “Isn’t that what you’re into?”

Matt snorted, and figured that hell, Mello would probably be just fine.

 ~

Over winter break, Mello drove down to Rhode Island and stayed in Matt’s room, curled up on the floor in a sleeping bag weighted down with knitted afghans. He lived with his aunt—a kind, overweight woman that took more to knitting than to speaking. 

By the water heaters in the basement, Matt ran his hands through Mello’s hair. They sat on the ground, Mello with his legs pulled up to his chest, and Matt with his legs crossed. In middle school, he’d sit down here with his headphones playing too loud, writing words that didn’t make sense into a tattered notebook. High school, and he was digging a needle into his calf, trying to give himself a tattoo. 

“It’s not that much warmer down here,” Mello pointed out flatly, his arms curled around his knees. Beneath Matt’s fingertips, he was trembling. Nothing significant, but not quite enough to ignore. Matt only grinned. Of course. Despite the sweater that he was practically swimming in, Mello was bone thin. They could go upstairs and grab blankets, but Mello had no intention of moving, and Matt was comfortable. 

“Here,” Matt offered instead, extending his arms on either side of his body.

“What?” 

“I’ll hold you.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Matt laughed. “Of course not.” Still, Mello just stared at him, his eyes narrowed and seeming to look straight through him. “It was just an offer.”

“Alright, sure.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Mello, with his hands curled into his chest, inched closer. What was exposed of Matt’s skin was hot to the touch, a delicious comfort from the biting winter air. Sure, the house was insulated, but that would only do so much. Matt’s pulse drummed in his ear, which he’d taken to pressing right to his throat. 

Mello curled his fingers around Matt’s jaw, and tugged his head in for an unintentionally rough kiss. Lips mashed together, and Mello’s teeth scraped against tongue, too eager, too deathly nervous to do this shit right. 

Even now, the bitter sink of betrayal knotted itself in his gut. Betrayal against whom? A man in jail, who’d never love him like this in the first place.

Matt, warm and covered in the thick smell of ash, pulled him in. His kissing wasn’t any better, but Mello, thrilled at the idea of reciprocated intimacy, moaned into the gesture, and hooked his arms over Matt’s shoulders. 

“Sorry,” Matt breathed between their mouths. A shaky, borderline ecstatic sounding thing that, paired with his face, said he wasn’t much sorry at all. “God…you’re so fucking hot.”

Mello pushed, cracking Matt’s back against one of the heaters. One hand smoothing down Matt’s back, and the other hooking between his fingers, Mello demanded “ _More_ ,” and stole another kiss from chapped, nicotine stained lips.

~

Matt liked the idea of women. Sitting in front of the mirror, dolling themselves up with powders and moisturizers, spending time rubbing beauty masks across their faces and tweezing their eyebrows. Lovely, silk dresses that hugged their hips and flowed around while they strutted along in pointed, clicking heels. 

He scratched at his arms, and ran his fingers through his hair. “Y’know, I just realized somethin’,” Matt drawled out, staring at himself in the mirror with hooded eyes. His face warped, and his fingers went up to rub circles on his cheeks. His skin was rough. Every pore, he could feel under his trembling fingertips. His eyes flicked to Mello’s reflection, sitting cross legged on their bed in a thin pair of boxers. Mello stared, waiting for him to finish, but Matt’d forgotten that he’d even started speaking in the first place.

“You just realized what?” Mello hummed, patient, his eyes flicking back down to his book. He turned another page, and slumped forward again. 

For a moment, Matt stared. What? He backtracked, shuffling through his memory banks, until the thought came back to him. “Oh. I think…I’d be lovely, as a girl.”

“Would you?”

“Sure.” He sighed, content, and slipped his fingers through his hair to rest his head against one. “I’d have long hair, and I’d wear it in a nice bun. I’d go on a diet, so I could be skinny and lovely, and I’d decorate myself in all different colors of eyeshadow. I’d be beautiful.”

Mello laughed—a soft, tantalizing thing, and Matt was on his feet, padding across the room. Walls warped, and the floor undulated beneath his feet. The dorm was always uglier when he was high. The lights were too bright, so he kept them off in favor of a few desk lamps that they’d dug up at Goodwill. Now, the room was a little too dark, a little too yellow, but Matt told himself that he’d hang Christmas lights as soon as they got to the stores, and it’d be lovely. Reds, blues, greens, the whole lot would shine above their heads, cheery and lighting their faces up in luminescent rainbows. 

He slipped himself onto the bed, and in between Mello’s legs. Soft, covered in golden blond hairs that curled in a subtle fuzz over his skin. “I want hair like yours.”

Mello cupped his face, and pulled him in for a kiss that was all slow swipes of tongue and a sloppy mess of lips mashing against lips. It took the breath from Matt’s lungs, dizzying, the constant drumming of _need you need you_ throbbing between his legs.“You’re telling me I look like a girl?”

“No,” Matt slurred in his haze. “Your shoulders are too broad.”

Mello barked out a laugh, and Matt went right along with him. His body sank against Mello’s, curled into warmth that had him breathing slow, steady, while arms wrapped around his shoulders.

All heart beats and near silent exhales, Matt listened, and desired.

~

_You’re afraid to be alone._

Simple as it sounded, silence, the utter thought of loneliness had Mello’s chest weighted down with an anxiety that he could hardly subdue. Unpredictable, smothering, choking the air from his lungs. But Mello, so much as he loved company, loved to push away.

When Matt, bright, starry eyed, and pleasantly drunk, ran fingers through his hair and told him that he loved it, Mello laughed along, dusted his cheeks with kisses, and tucked him away in bed. 

Over the bathroom sink, paper cutting scissors and a piece of newspaper to cover the drain, Mello chopped it all off. Right from the middle of his back into a cropped bob. Messy ends, even messier layers, and no plan to the way he cut it. Didn’t look bad, but didn’t look professional, either.

Mello couldn’t remember the last time he’d stepped into a salon. It worked. _Tell me you love me, so I can shatter our hearts._

_Tell me you don’t want to be alone._

_Tell me you need me._

_Tell me, and I’ll shove those lovely words right back down your throat._

The idea of commitment was nothing but terrifying. Matt was lovely. And for Matt, he could be no good. Just a boy with a nasty attitude and an even nastier track record. Alcohol still thick in his veins he stumbled back to bed, and slept with his face pressed between Matt’s jutting shoulder blades.

Still, he woke up first. At seven in the morning, he pulled himself out of bed and into Matt’s desk chair, feet tapping against the ground while he trudged less than awake through his criminal justice homework. 

An hour later, Matt, hungover, shuffling across the dorm room in nothing but his baggy, triforce print pajama pants, leaned over Mello’s shoulder. He reeked of stale whisky and day old fast food, hair mussed up and half sticking up in a mess of wavy knots. 

Mello, soon as Matt’s chin hit his shoulder, trapping him in his chair, regretted it. Wished he could take the hair out of the trash and get it back onto his head. 

_Don’t look at me_.

“Mello.”

_I’m not beautiful anymore, right?_

_Leave me._

_Don’t leave me._

“None of your ends are cut the same.”

Mello laughed. Laughed until his stomach ached, and his hands were curling around his sides. That’s what Matt would notice. That’s what Matt would think was best to point out. Not that Mello’d practically spat his compliment right back into his face. Not that Mello had done nothing but attempt to choke every bit of desire out of Matt’s body. Not that Mello was doing everything in his power to pull them apart. 

That his fucking ends were uneven. 

Mello kissed his walking ash-tray of a friend, tongue on tongue, Honey Jack lingering bitter on his lips. The residue of poison, _ash_ , seeped long ago into Matt’s flesh. Matt sucked a shaky breath in through his nose, mouth sealed to mouth with a tenderness that made Mello’s heart ache. It wasn’t the breathlessness of intimacy, but the desire that tumbled itself out of Matt’s kiss. A sense of urgency, _need_ , despite Mello’s fucked up hair and his fucked up intentions. 

_Show me you’ll want me no matter what_.

Matt gave, and Mello took.

~

Matt’s head tilted back, neck craned to catch a glimpse of Mello’s face, all twists and malicious desire. “Come on, babe,” was all he could murmur, the car still humming while they sat in a Wal-Mart parking lot.

The both of them, easily, could have considered this trashy.

Matt was nothing special. An average looking guy with too many freckles, slicked back hair, and glasses too big for his face. He grinned at Mello, and in his eyes was the hint of a kid that did too much Adderraland pulled too many all nighters. 

Fingers slipped over zipper and button, prodding Matt’s pants open with pointed black nails, and temptation that kept him in a half lidded daze. Exhausted, drained from too many hours on shift and too many hours buried in his books. The potential of sex had his hips quivering and Mello’s hand pressing him down, soft against hard, want against control.

Out of his boxers, the air was frigid, and he melted himself into Mello’s grasp. Pant, thrust, moan, thrust, Matt’s mouth gaped, lip parted, tongue pressed to the back of his teeth.

“ _Mello_.”

“Mhm?” He was a tease, edging forward with his lips dripping poison, temptation against his ear. Hot, wet, tongue against flesh, tongue against throat. “You wish you were fuckin’ me?” 

Pitiful, face red, hot, Matt shook his head. 

His desperation surged right between Mello’s legs. Lust, white hot desire. It wasn’t so much the action as it was the utter _need_ etched onto Matt’s face. The dependence that had him caving under every twitch of Mello’s body.

“No?”

“ _No._ Ah, _fuck.”_ And his lips kept moving, but the rest of his explanation wouldn’t force itself out. What he wanted to say was _Fuck me_. _Pull me onto your lap. Have me, take me._ Instead, Mello dipped down and parted his lips, tongue flush against the underside of Matt’s cock while he took him into the back of his throat. _Hot_ , it’s fucking _hot_ , throat closing around his cock. Matt’s hands tugged at Mello’s hair, hips rolling up to meet stretched lips. Heat, crushing him, clawing at the inside of his gut, sparked hazily over his vision. 

It was the first time, he realized, that anyone’d blown him. It was always bend over, fingers in, fuck until white spilled down his thighs, and he jacked himself off into a shuddering orgasm.

Mello was perfect, lovely, with his wrinkled up nose, eyes twisted shut and cheeks sucked in, mouth making too much noise and too much spit, the excess dripping down his cock in glistening streaks. 

When he came, it was in the back of Mello’s throat. No warning, save for a strangled gasp, and the twitch of Matt’s hips, bucking just too hard against Mello’s face. _Sofuckinggood_.

_Wanna make you feel like that._

_Want you to push me down and fuck my throat._

“Christ, you taste like hell.” 

Matt’s lips dove for a kiss rather than a retort, tasting himself on Mello’s tongue. Bitter. Smoker’s come. 

“Come on,” he grunted, ripping Mello’s pants open. “Let me blow you.”

~ 

“Matt, get your fucking feet off of me.”

“Gonna do an internship.”

“Uhuh?” Mello hummed drowsily, tucking his head between Matt’s neck and his shoulder. Hot skin burned against his cheek, and fingers tangled into his hair, carding through thick strands of golden blond. “Doesn’t change that you’re fucking cold. Off.”

Matt felt like the frigid winter air, even his lips chilled to the touch. He curled himself around Mello, his skin in contrast a comfortable warmth. “I missed you.”

“You saw me this morning.” 

“Still, I can’t help it.”

Mello sighed. “You drunk?”

Matt snorted, and pulled his boyfriend closer. “Not right now.” But his lips ghosted against Mello’s skin, prickling with the hint of warmth. Eventually, the touches were a comfort, heated with heat stolen from Mello’s body. “Got an internship.”

“Yeah? Where at.”

“At the FBI Office.”

“In Boston?”   
“Yeah, right down the road.” 

Mello said nothing, but a smile pulled at his mouth, and Matt knew from the way they leaned into each other that he was proud. 

~

Matt had his first kill in Southie. Clean up for the Italians. Real simple shit. Catch the guy that owed him twenty grand, and put a bullet through his skull. 

He hated it. 

Twenty years old, his hand trembled around his gun. He was gonna be a cop _._ Not a murderer. This wasn’t what he _wanted_.

But the cops had it in with the families around town, and if he wanted to get anywhere, he’d have to play along. Besides, they weren’t getting rid of anyone that’d be missed. 

He could do that. He could be a dog, trotting at the heels of law enforcement to get himself an in. It came down to _desire_. How _badly_ did he want this job? How _badly_ did he want to tell his parents, already six feet under, that he’d made it. To have them smile down from a heaven that didn’t exist, from a nothingness that could tell no difference, and say they were proud.

Before Matt even got his badge, it was tainted with blood. 

In their college apartment, two of their roommates huddled up on the couch watching Seinfeld reruns, Matt dragged Mello into their bedroom. His face, a sickly white, shone haggard against their shitty lighting. Deathly sick. Matt wanted to forget, fumbling with Mello’s waistband so frantically that he couldn’t even get the button undone. “Babe, you’re shaking.”

Mello’s hands guided his back to his side. 

_No._  
“Mel—“

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Like hell nothing fucking—“

“Shut _up!”_

Any other time, Mello’s temper would have flared up with a ferocity enough to frighten the both of them. But Matt looked like hell, his face haggard and his cheeks hollow. He _reeked_ of cigarettes, even more so than usual, and Mello’s eyes search his face for some sort of hint. “Do you want to go for a walk?” 

“ _God_ no.” Nowhere where he could be found. Nowhere where he was in danger. His body trembled, chilled despite it still being near eighty degrees, recoiling from Mello’s touch. “I need a drink.”

“Okay. Yeah. Okay,” Mello sputtered, and he was digging under his bed for a bottle of Reubenoff vodka. Shitty stuff, more for the volume than the quality. Practically jet fuel when it went down, but it would work. “Mixers?”

“Straight.”

“Fucking disgusting.”

But Matt couldn’t give two shits. They were cracking the bottle open, and he downed three shots with watering eyes, gags that nearly had his stomach contents coming up, and coughing that bordered on vomiting. 

“Matt. Matt, hey—“

“It’s fucking _fine_.” But how fine could it be, with Matt chugging vodka, and Mello left to watch with helpless apprehension. Guilt. Flames from his conscience licked holes in his chest. Crumbled morality, trampled by the desire to succeed, laid itself to rest. 

“I killed someone,” Matt slurred seven shots in. He wouldn’t remember, and Mello wouldn’t remind him. Nine shots, and that’s when tears started to spill over. He curled a knee up to his chest, his cheek pressed against it while he sobbed out incoherencies that had Mello rubbing circles into his back and trying to say _something_ to reassure him that it’d be okay. 

It seemed more self pity than guilt. 

Mello could understand that. He pulled Matt into a hug, cramped together on his dormitory bed. Too drunk to understand, to communicate, Matt tried to drown his feelings in shitty vodka and Mello’s near smothering embrace. He looked ratty, with a worn sweater hanging loose on his shoulders, and grease stains on his jeans. His hair, washed, at least, had dried and stuck itself in at least a dozen different directions, no method to its placement whatsoever. 

When Matt tried to get up to take a piss, his legs gave out. The world spun, distorted behind dilated, watering eyes. When he hit the ground, Matt was hardly aware that he’d even moved. 

“Babe. Babe, you’re too drunk.”

“Kill’d som’n, gott’—“ He grasped at the edge of his mattress, nearly yanking it off of the bed frame. 

Mello dragged him into the bathroom, jammed two fingers down his throat, and made him puke everything up.

~

“I’m sorry,” Matt rasped, face half pushed into his pillow the next morning. He still reeked of booze, a hint of vomit, and over all of that, cigarettes. His throat scratched whenever he tried to swallow, and Mello, curled up in his own bed only a few feet away, stared at him. 

“You smell like puke.”

“Oh.” More than enough reason for Matt to pull himself up despite the stinging in his head and the aching in his throat. 

That was all Mello had to offer. Almost as if he hadn’t dealt with the aftermath of murder. Like he hadn’t watched Matt try to drink himself to death. “Go take a shower.”

“Okay.” Out of bed, the floor was freezing. Blood on snow, sin splashing over purity. Matt was tainted. Always had to have been, to pull the trigger. There was no struggle for survival. Matt calculated, fired, planned this kill without an ounce of danger creeping upon himself. He, always, must have had the capability for murder. “Come with me.”

“I'll sit on the counter.”

It wasn’t until he was back that Mello sat up in bed. “Your head?”

“It’s fine.”

“Bullshit.”

“ “M just hungry. And I wanna smoke.”

“Okay.”

“Mello.”

“Mhm?” Matt watched him wipe sleep out of his eyes, leaned against the wall next to his bed. Mello, even with his knotted hair and his tired eyes, was lovely. A naive air to him that couldn’t have been real. Definitely was _not_ real.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?” 

“No, Matt.”

“But I—“

His hand went up, and that was that. “Don’t.” 

“Oh. I’ll, uh. I’ll be right back in.” The shower seemed a world away. His feet screamed not to move but like holy

“Okay.”

The hangover was shit, and God, _God_ , wasn’t it awful enough that he had to take care of the mess inside his head. He couldn’t put all of this on Mello, it wasn’t fair of him to—

“ _Matt_.”

He snapped back to reality, eyes blowing wide behind his glasses. “Uhuh?”

“Come on. We gotta get moving.”


	2. Nostalgia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Choice was ripped from his fingers, replaced with a firearm tucking itself into the space between his thigh and the seat.
> 
> “Just in case.”

 

 

From Mello’s perspective, seeing a ghost would have been better.At home over fall break, Mello stood in his doorway, mouth moving but no words coming out. Already, his heart had sped up. Already, adrenaline pricked at the back of his throat and told him to fucking _move_. He buried his hands in the shirt of the man in front of him, and pulled him inside. Reckless. Fucking reckless. No one, thank Christ, was around. With both of his parents at work, he was at least, for now, in the clear. 

“Beyond, are you fucking _kidding_ me.”

“What?” 

As nonchalant as fucking ever. Panic seeped into anger, and Mello used that to force the words past his lips. 

“Don’t give me that _shit_. You _know_ fucking what. Are you trying to get me fucking arrested? What the—“

“I need to get to California.” The ease at which the words came from the older man’s lips was absolutely infuriating.

“Beyond, I can’t.” But already, Mello knew that he could. And that he would. He moved to the side, and Beyond pushed his way into his house. Thank _Christ_ , his parents had left yesterday for a vacation. “Sit down.”

B stayed standing, leaning against the wall. He was more muscular. Harsher, if possible. He looked like a fucking punk, and there was something about him that Mello still adored. Thick, black curls hung around his face, and he had the eyes of a murderer. 

Unstable. 

“I missed you,” Beyond whispered, and the words cut deep. Of course, Mello had missed him, too. His first love. The first person Mello had fully wanted to give himself to. A beautiful man with a horrid disposition. “School’s been treating you well?”

Talking as if he wasn’t on the fucking run. As if he were coming in for a cup of coffee, casual, not a bit of stress to his composure. “Yes.”

Mello’s head rushed, because he needed to act. He needed to get a fucking grip and figure out what the hell he was going to do. He could call the cops. Could, maybe. But would Beyond hesitate to choke the life out of him?

God damn it.

Already, he knew he was going to be figuring a way to get Beyond halfway across the fucking country as fast as possible. Fucking stupid. Fucking fucking _stupid_. 

He had half a mind to call Matt, but he subdued the thought. No reason to get him fucked with this, too. The less people to know, the better. The less of a trail, the better.“Jesus fucking _Christ_ , B. You’re going to get me fucking arrested.”

“Just don’t get caught.”

Oh, yeah, because it was that simple. Mello ran his hands through his hair. “Alright. Alright. I can get you to Chicago. Find your own fucking way from there.”

Beyond’s lips twisted themselves into a grotesque smile. Even now, he was beautiful. He stalked across the kitchen, and pulled Mello into a hug that lingers somewhere between nostalgic and terrifying. “I knew you’d help.” 

“I’m predictable, I guess.”

Mello’s stomach twisted, with the prick of bile rising in the back of his throat. 

~~

Something about sitting in a car with Beyond for five hours did little to settle Mello’s nerves. It should have been fine. 

What the ever living fuck was he thinking?

No, not at all. Not with Beyond getting his ass out of prison, and the constant reminder in the back of his head that he had to be back in Massachusetts for Matt in under four days. 

And what could he say?

Any hint of Beyond and Matt would know who it was. 

He wasn’t a jealous man, but the sting was unavoidable. Mello wouldn't put his neck out for Matt’s business, but he’d do it for Beyond. And Beyond, he couldn’t help but think, knew him so much better.

He saw the core of who Mello was. Not kind, not generous, but twisted and marred. To Matt, he was perfection. All in all, a wonderful thing, but something so smothering that it had Mello’s chest aching when he knew in the bottom of his heart that perfection was something he’d never achieve. 

He could live with the knowledge that Matt was a murderer. Partially, through pity. Partially, through the knowledge that they both held the same capability. And it had been Mello, after all, that’d showed the potential first.

Matt only happened to put that potential into action. 

“Are you scared?”

_Scared_. Sure, _sure_ , he could say he was scared. Infuriated, terrified, mortified that he’d gotten in his damned car and didn’t think to call the fucking cops and just get Beyond _out._

Mello wouldn’t have been able to live with himself.

At least this way, he could tolerate himself for a little bit longer. 

“The fuck kind of shit do you think you’re saying? _Look_ at the situation, Beyond!”

“Well,” he mumbled into the butt of his cigarette. “Then we just won’t get caught.”

As if that could be the end of the conversation. Beyond shifted in his seat, rummaging through pockets far too big for his pants, and then through his jacket. Between coarse, too pale fingers, he pulled out a Beretta F-92, as if it were the most casual God damned thing in the world. For an instant, the shock didn’t register. He’d seen the gun tucked away in Matt’s drawers hundreds of times, so much so that it became a normality. 

Normalcy.

Shock.

Panic.

Mello’s eyes darted between the road and the firearm, far too wide, trying to process, trying to fucking think of _what the hell to do_.

Choice was ripped from his fingers, replaced with a firearm tucking itself into the space between his thigh and the seat.

“Just in case.”

_Just in case_.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck

~~

Eating takeout in the passenger seat of his car, packed behind a rundown gas station, Mello’s chest was twisting into burning, disfigured knots.

His lips curled into a snarl. Never, had he felt such an irritation towards his friend. There was the inclination, temptation even, to let his feelings replace themselves with a guilt of equal intensity.

No, he had every right to be as irritated as he damned well pleased. For the flicker of an instant, he wanted to hurt someone. Himself, maybe. Beyond, maybe. A stranger, ideally.

_Don’t. Don’t. Don’t._

But God, he knew it felt wonderful to pull that trigger. Beyond’s handgun sat against his thigh, and a spare hid itself in his glove compartment.

For a split second, he would feel like God. He controlled life, death. Mello, at the blink of an eye, could destroy someone—tear an entire family apart with the twitch of his finger. 

He could separate himself from Matt, B, his potential. But fate tested him, and in the parking lot of this run down convenience store, Mello had his chance. Pale knuckles knocked against the window of his car, and he rolled it down just enough to hear. Young kid, maybe a few years beneath Mello. Ratty beanie, longboard tucked under his arm. Maybe, just a punk. Probably. 

High schoolers didn’t know shit. 

Shouldn’t have known shit.

But the moment Mello heard the words “Beyond Birthday” uttered from this stranger’s mouth, he was reeling out of the car, clutching that pretty little handgun between his fingers. There was no calculation, just the rip of bullet through flesh, and the bang of the gun ringing in his ears. 

One, two, thee, four.

One in the shoulder, three in the chest.

If Beyond went down, he was going down with him. Now, this was about saving his own ass. Kid or not, Mello couldn’t let anyone catch wind of the shit he was getting himself into.

Blood. The recoil of the gun made his hands tremor long after he’d scrambled back into the car. 

“Drive. Drive, fucking _drive_ , _Mello_!” tore from Beyond’s lips, and he, not fully comprehending the weight of the situation, hit the gas. Grease from his burger still smeared across his hands, leaving fingerprints across the steering wheel when he turned.

“Shit. _Shit_. Fuck, the security cameras—“

“No, we were too far away. It’s fine. It’s fine, there’s no way they saw your face.” 

_But what about the car_?

“Christ, you better clean this the fuck up,” Mello hissed, gritting his teeth until his head throbbed with an enraged sting behind his eyes.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck _fuck_.

~~

In the driver’s seat, Mello squirmed, while Beyond smoked beside him. Familiar. Now, cigarettes only reminded him of Matt.

Matt.

Mello’s heart still drummed in his ears, the ever persistent roar of blood making it almost impossible to hear. Couldn’t hear his own thoughts, could barely hear the chatter coming from Beyond only a couple of feet away from him.

“We can stop somewhere for the night.”

Fucking _pushy_.

“No. I don’t have time.” Time. Beyond had to understand. Hell, _he_ was the one that should have been worrying about getting the hell _out_. 

“What the fuck are you doing? It’s break, right?”

Like this was anywhere near how Mello wanted to spend it.

Mello sneered, and hit the gas a little too hard. They shot down the highway, and his heart sits heavy in his chest. Beyond had dragged him right into fucking hell. He’d kept himself out of this shit, away from Beyond, away from Matt’s work, even. In his own bubble where these things wouldn’t sit behind his eyes and rot him from the inside out while he tried to sleep. “I have a fucking date, okay?” 

“Wow, you’re getting yourself out there, huh?”

“It’s with Matt.”

“Matt?” Oh. Right.

“My boyfriend.” 

Beyond laughed out smoke. “You never told me?”

Mello whipped the car across three lanes of traffic. Three in the morning, and the roads were dead. “I didn’t think who I was sticking my dick in would be your kind of conversation.” 

“What’s he do?”

Mello flicked his eyes to the side. “He’s a hitman.” _He wants to be a cop, though,_ Mello almost adds, but he thought that for Beyond, it’d be too laughable. Too predictable.

“Christ, you really do have a fucking type, don’t you?” Beyond laughs, too high pitched and too grating against Mello’s nerves. “Let me guess—he’s a lanky son of a bitch too, right?”

Of course he was fucking right. Mello pursed his lips, and weighted his foot that much more on the gas. “Stop.”

“Jesus, you really do have a fucking type when—“

“Beyond, I will blow your _fucking_ brains out!” 

The silence, which Mello had yearned for in the hope of comfort, made his chest twist. Beyond sat, eyes locked on the younger man’s face, while Mello’s eyes stayed locked on the road. What they both knew, and they both internalized, was that in that instant, he had meant it. With blood stained hands, he didn’t think twice about what it’d feel like to put a bullet through B’s skull.

Beyond lit another cigarette, and laughed out a mouthful of smoke. “No wonder you liked me so much back then.”

_Shut up shut up shut up_.

B’s voice was horrid, ringing like nails down a chalkboard in Mello’s ears. “You loved me because I was everything you’d never be.” Could he say no to that? He’d always padded behind Beyond, chasing after his shadow with a yearning and admiration that neared obsession. 

“Because I _thought_ you were everything I could never be.”

For better or for worse, with a death on his hands and a rush between his legs and in his gut, Mello had awakened a repressed aggression that he hadn’t before dared to indulge himself with.

~~

Chicago seemed only a blink of an eye away, with the mess knocking around in Mello’s head. Somewhere along the lines, they ditched the car. Right into a lake, and picked up an old, beat up thing from a used car shop only a few miles away. 

Couldn’t get caught like this.

No fucking way no fucking way.

Mello wanted to fucking _kill_ Beyond.

And really, _really,_ he meant it.

“Don’t miss me too much,” Beyond dared to utter out, standing outside of their car in what looked like the middle of fucking nowhere. But according to him, he knew what he was doing.

Mello couldn’t give two shits either way. He wanted B gone, and he wanted to get his ass back home.

He’d have enough time on the way back to think.

“No worries,” Mello near spat, and even then, a twisted grin tugged at the ends of Beyonds lips.

Never could take anything like this seriously.

“I owe you one.”

And what the hell good was that going to do him?

 ~~

Matt had no idea.

Absolutely for the best. 

Mello showed up for their date fifteen minutes early, his hands jammed in his pockets, and a near useless beanie covering his ears. It was easy, to forget about Beyond. Matt’s eyes opened a little more than usual when he opened the door, and the grin that cracked across his lips helped to sweep his mess of a spring break away.

For now, anyway. 

Mello knew that if the words came out, so would the emotion. 

If it was anything like Matt’s own tumble into depression, he would avoid it at all costs. He couldn’t afford such a display, and certainly couldn’t afford to put his lover in a position to deal with him.

Nothingness was something he readily embraced with open arms.

Part of it was the shock. He’d seen blood on pavement, and the remainder of a young man’s life seep from his body. But unlike Matt, he was nowhere close to drinking himself into a stupor. Hell, drugs, cigarettes, none of it appealed to him. Instead, he took to Matt, and pulled him by the lapels of his jacket into a kiss that was too much tongue and too much lust.

As if his boyfriend minded.

Matt groaned into the display of affection, his body shifting to press itself against Mello’s. He didn’t move to understand _why_ , but rather, rolled with the display, and graciously embraced it. 

Sometimes, with Mello, it was better to let these things like this run their course.

~~

They only made it out for dinner before they were back in the dormitories, body to body, flesh to flesh. 

“They’re calling you my dog, y’know.”

“Yeah?” Matt hummed, tracing shapes on his chest in the lathered up soap that glued to his skin. Circles, dripping down his navel and then the drain. He watched, only mildly fascinated, while Mello’s voice droned beside him. “Why’s that?”

“ ‘Cause you’ve got no balls.” Mello sprayed him in the face with the handheld shower head. Matt winced, but an ear to ear grin scratched over his face, eyes still crinkled shut. “And everyone knows you like it up the ass.”

He snorted a laugh, and wiped the water off his face with shaky hands. The shitty college dormitory shower kept him within arm’s distance of his roommate by design rather than by choice. Elbows bumped, and Matt ducked under the shower head once it was secured back in place. “Guess so.” 

“Doesn’t bother you?”

“Should it?” Matt hummed, his breaths ghosting over Mello’s shoulder with a mix of damp air and spraying water. Hot and murky, lingering against his pores with an air of submission. Mello turned, frigid eyes settling on Matt’s face. 

Matt’d always felt taller. Like he’d towered over Mello. But now, he noticed that they weren’t quite at eye level anymore, and he was glancing up to get a good look at him. Not by much, maybe two or three inches, but enough for him to notice if he really looked. “I’d like to see a bit of self respect every once in a while.”

The laugh fell off of Matt’s tongue raspy, tangled in his throat. A sort of thing that came right from his chest and made his entire face light up.

“That right?” Matt murmured, his head swimming with anticipation. Mello’s eyes glowed, like they always did at the hint of a challenge, and his mouth quirked itself into a crooked line of a smile. 

“Stick up for yourself.”

“Do you want me to?”

Mello laughed, airy, and leaned to roll his tongue over the shell of Matt’s ear. It earned a shiver and a hiss through teeth ground hastily together. “Guess it doesn’t matter now, since you’re still asking permission.”  
Matt couldn’t disagree. Instead, fingers prodded at the knots in Mello’s back, and dragged bitten nails over the strained white knobs that made up his spine. “So,” he drawled, and lolled his head to the side to press his lips against Mello’s. It was too wet, sloppy, with water running down their faces and through the frantic parting of their mouths. “You’re telling me to just take what I want.”

“Am I?”

Fucking tease.

Matt’s eyelids drooped, but his pupils dilated and hands led their lips together. Mello’s cock twitched against his thigh. “And that, then, is supposed to be me fucking you.”

The smile stretches, filthy, and Matt knew he’d hit the nail on the head. “If that’s where—“

Spine collided with porcelain, and breaths knocked themselves from Mello’s lungs. 

The display was useless. Bodies rocked against each other with sloppy kisses that were more lust than tact, and nails that painted puffed red lines down Matt’s back. Mello had two slicked up fingers jammed inside of him, with swiss army lube dripping down his thighs and cock, but his authority still hung silent in the air. He moaned, echoing against grime stained porcelain, and rocked his hips in unpredictable stutters, forcing Matt in down to his knuckles.

They fucked hasty, gritty, with Matt pushing in too fast and Mello groaning too loud, a shaky hint of a name tumbling off of his lips. Heat spilled through his limbs, down to tingling fingers and curling toes. Inside, Mello was burning hot, clenched tight around Matt’s cock with a trembling breathlessness. Mello was beautiful, pinned to the shower wall, thighs spread and hips snapped to Matt’s. Water soaked his skin, running down his limbs in fat droplets that formed quick fading puddles around Matt’s hands. 

God, this alone was near enough to send Matt over the edge. 

Nothing like fucking a girl.

Fingers yanked Mello’s head to the side so sharply that his mouth opened in a silent groan, turning itself into a yelp when teeth sank into his throat and decorated him with splashes of purple and red. 

Matt’s hips moved in frantic spurts, his stubbed fingernails digging into Mello’s thighs with a desperation that bordered on pathetic. But Mello, _Mello_ , he wrenched his eyes shut and tilted his head back, letting it smack against the shower wall when Matt went too deep and hit the mess of nerves inside of him. 

Matt came fast, a gasp that knocked the breath out of his lungs while his hips tremor against Mello’s ass. He’d caught himself by surprise, spilling inside of Mello with his lips parted and his face buried in the crook of his neck, teeth sinking against his collarbone. He sank, crumbling to his knees, easing out of Mello and pressing lips to slicked thighs and then over his cock.

“Matt. _Matt_ , I—“ It was a few bobs of his head, slipping Mello into the back of his throat that had him coming, white and bitter against Matt’s tongue.

Matt adored the shaky exhaustion that rocked itself through Mello’s body, making him buck his hips against his face, hands tangled in his soaking mop of red hair. 

Started like a bitch and ended like a bitch. 

_You really don’t have a damned bit of self respect, do you_? Mello wondered, pulling himself from Matt’s mouth, and tilting his chin up to look at come stained lips and shining, tired eyes.

“Well?” is all he could think to whisper, dusting manicured nails down the hollow dip in Matt’s cheek. His skin prickled with a hint of stubble, sharp against Mello’s fingertips. He dragged the swell of Matt’s lower lip down, flashing crooked teeth and a tattoo that tactlessly scrawled “ _Nancy_ ” on the inside of his mouth. Never took anything seriously.

“That what it’s like to fuck me?” Matt hummed. _No, not quite_. He grinned, and shot himself up, hand pressing against Mello’s ass. 

“Christ, you’re dickwhipped.”

The water started to run cold over Matt’s head, and his hand fumbled to turn the damned thing _off_. 

~~

Matt’s slump into depression ran itself into something of an avalanche.

Pouring, pelting rain. 

In the hospital, Matt’s grandmother coughed. It was heavy, wet, a hint of emphysema and lung cancer that was more than enough to break down her body but not quite enough to kill her.

All Matt saw was himself.

More terrifying than her brittle, near decaying body was the fact that she was alone. Her husband, dead twenty years, was nothing more than a distant memory. One of her children dead from a car accident. The other, a stroke. Matt, living in the dormitories during the school year and in Mello’s room during their breaks, was all she had left.Even then, that wasn't much—a cramped, one bedroom apartment that they payed out the ass for. 

He didn’t say a word of it to Mello until it was time for the funeral.

Nature brought upon Matt the utmost cruelty. Sitting cross legged in the middle of the graveyard, Matt ripped his way through what had to be his fourth or fifth cigarette within the span of fifteen minutes. Above his head, the sun beat down. A perfect April day. Not an ounce of rain, and warm enough to shed off a winter coat in favor of a lighter, denim jacket. 

The skies should have been shrouded. Rain should have flattened his hair against his face and soaked him through to the bone. Instead, Matt was sitting here, smoking away and perfectly comfortable. 

Behind him, Mello stood.

“Do you believe in God?” Matt asked, his throat scratchy. The tears, despite the wake, the funeral, had yet to come. Open casket and all, Matt only stared. In a steady, heavy voice, he gave a eulogy to Mello, the priest, and a few members of the Senior Citizens Club that his grandmother used to attend. 

All in all, no one significant. 

Save for Matt, no one to remember.

Now, he thought of Mello. Would it be he, who would be responsible for burying Matt? For clinging to what little memory he would leave behind?

“I don’t know,” Mello whispered back, resting manicured nails on Matt’s shoulders. “But the idea sounds nice, doesn’t it?” He lowered himself to sit beside Matt. “To think that you’re around for a reason.

“I think so.”

“Do you believe in God, then?’ 

Matt’s lips twisted into a dead smile. In his eyes, nothing. “I’m not sure.” 

“Of course.”

“It’s a coping mechanism.” Of course. Anything to believe that there was purpose. That there would be something at the end of the tunnel to let them know that when their time came like all other human beings that they would not be alone. That there was something unconditionally loving. 

“I think…that there’s something.”

“Yeah?” 

“Sometimes, I don’t want to. But I think so.”

“I’m sorry.”

Mello rested his chin against Matt’s shoulder. “For what?”

“For bringing you here.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s your day off.”

“It’s your grandmother.”

“Was.”

“Yeah.”

A single flower at his feet. Left to rot until one of the yard keepers swept it away with the rest. No veteran’s wreath, no special engraving. A simple name, date of birth, date of death. A desperate cry into the universe to say _“I was here! Please, don’t forget me_.” A leap to show that for whatever split second she was on this planet, that she mattered. 

“When my parents died, I didn’t go to school for two months.”

Mello wasn’t quite sure why Matt was bringing this up, but he didn’t move to open his mouth in protest. Instead, he let his hand slide down Matt’s spine and rest at the small of his back.

“When my grandpa went, I did so much coke I thought I was gonna fucking kick it.”

“You’re not alone this time,” is all he can offer. It sounds near meaningless coming out of Mello’s mouth, but Matt at least leans into his touch, the full weight of his torso leaning into Mello.  
“It doesn’t matter what you do, y’know? We all end up the same.”

“You should do what makes you happy.”

“You make me happy.”

Mello smiled, soft, reassuring as he could manage. With gentle fingers, he clutched at Matt’s chin, soft, heated beneath the pads of his fingertips, and tilted until their gazes met. 

“I’m here for you to have.”

~~

Matt had his degree mounted on the wall and his hands doused in blood. In name, he was a police officer. In his closet, pressed, was his uniform. His badge sat on the bedside table, and his gun in a safe in the closet. 

But they could afford more. A one bedroom still, but something spacious. Something in the nicer part of town. A Back Bay apartment, fifth floor. Nothing too fancy, but definitely comfortable. Long term.

He wanted Mello to be happy. Content. Anything to see his face light up and his mouth twist into a smile. This wasn’t right, but it was easy. In the kitchen, Mello greeted him. His lips were pulled into a taut line, but his eyes were soft. “You’re done for the day?”

“Yeah.”

It was obvious, by the ease of his stature, that it’d just been paperwork. Menial tasks that harmed no one, and gave Matt a little bit of sanity to cling onto.

He could lean in for a kiss without the world weighing down on his shoulders.

Today, anyway, he could let himself rest. 

Mello tried, tried, tried so fucking hard to make it work. And Matt, in his heart of hearts, couldn’t understand how his lover could handle the pressure so well.

Murder, God, he could barely take it himself. 

Still, when Mello ran a hand up his spine and through his hair, he let himself go, and tried to think of nothing but the feeling of Mello’s tongue, and the faint scent of smoke between them. 

~~

With depression came the frantic grasp at a solution.

“I feel fucking stupid.” _Faggy_. Still, Matt slipped the pair of panties up from his ankles. A soft, polyester lace that hugged his hips and fit too tight around his cock. He couldn’t complain. Matt tried to tuck himself in better, once, twice, succeeding only halfway on his third try. Enough that he didn’t have dick sticking out from any of the sides. _Fucking stupid_. _So fucking stupid_. 

_This is wrong. This is wrong. I shouldn’t want this_.

He looked at Mello for some sort of help.

Mello, in response, dumped a bright yellow Forever 21 bag over their unmade bed. Floral leggings, and a lavender, knee length sweater. “You’ll look good,” he encouraged, and guided Matt by the shoulders to their bed. His skin sat burning, embarrassingly hot beneath Mello's fingertips. There was the familiar quiver of fear—helplessness. God, anyone would’ve been able to spot it from a mile away. 

Downright petrified.

The fibers were cheap, but they were enough. 

Well, for a first run, anyway. 

_It’s just clothes,_ he tried to tell himself. But what good could that do, when just pulling a damned sweater over his head had his heart in his throat. Matt felt so fucking _uncomfortable_. 

“I can’t go out like this.” He decided in an instant. He loved the clothes. Maybe. Hopefully. But what he couldn’t bring himself to love was the eyes of every single person that would try to stare a hole through him. 

Mello didn’t get it. “Hey, no one cares. We’ll just go to the Thai place, and—“

“I _can’t,_ Mel.”

“Why?” 

Matt’s brain overflowed, but not a single thought made sense. While he tried to process, his mouth gaped. Eyes stared wide, bugged, looking right at Mello without seeing a thing. “I just… _no_ , I can’t. I really can’t.”

“Why? Matt, you’re _beautiful_.” The compliment made his heart swell, but that could do nothing for the knee buckling panic that had him frozen in the doorway, only one shoe pulled on and his wallet in his hand. Matt wanted to. He’d adore to. He thought of walking down the street, Mello’s arm around his waist. 

He thought of being lovely.

“I’m terrified.” Could Mello blame him? His sweater hung in the middle of his thighs, and yet he fretted that his dick would be too fucking visible through his leggings. He’d be a fag. A fucking pervert. Indecent. While the bobby pins burned in his hair, nail polish felt like acid on his fingers. 

God.

Jesus Christ.

“Mello, this was an awful idea. I’m so sorry, I really can’t—“

“Babe. Babe, it’s okay. Here, take off your shoes, it’s fine.” 

“No, I—“

“Another day, alright? Another time, Matt.” 

It was Mello, hands clasped to either side of his face, that had him relaxed. Mello’s eyes, that stood only a few inches above his, burned through him. Mello, lovely in his leather outfit with his perfectly cut hair.

Matt was disgusted with himself and the jealousy that pricked through his veins. _I love you. I’m so sorry. I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you._

While Matt crumbled, Mello tried to keep the pieces together. “I hate this. I _hate this_ , Mello.”

“Talk to me, babe.” 

Easier said than done. Matt’s eyes darted over Mello’s features, trying to absorb. Over processing. His body was struck with a panic, leaving him dumbly paralyzed in front of his boyfriend. He felt ridiculous, immature. Hopeless. “This is what I _want_. This is what I fucking _want_ and I’m such a fucking _cunt_ , I can’t do it. And I want to so _fucking_ _bad_.” Tears sprung to his eyes, a terror stricken through his limbs that had Mello sick.

_How could you hate yourself this much?_

His fingers dug into his hips, red crescents through black knit jersey. Mello didn’t stop him. All Mello did was stand, his hands on Matt’s face, then his throat, then his shoulders. 

When they kissed, Matt tasted like bitter self resentment, a weak desperation to his lips that made Mello’s heart ache. Fear, crippling self doubt. They lingered on the tip of his tongue, tasting of acid, a poison that stung the back of his throat and had him miserable. 

Mello, in all of this, had no idea what to say.

~~

Working for the cops wasn’t so bad. Nice gig, shiny badge, and a hell of a lot of power to do whatever the hell he wanted. University, Police Academy, it’d been a breeze. Not that he fucking needed it now, anyway. 

In the years since he’d been inducted, handed that badge, gun, and the whole uniform to go along with it, he hadn’t done one damned bit of legal work.

Matt, in short, was a hit man.

And before, he’d thought it’d been like in the movies—gangs shooting at each other, cutting deals with FBI agents, smuggling drugs and pulling off kidnappings. But the real guys, well, they sat right in the police station, guns on their hips and swinging around the idea of justice with grimy, blood stained fingers. 

Matt didn’t mind. Sometimes. 

It was a good gig. Shit ton of international travel and a shit ton of money and compensation to go along with it. A good hit would come with a safehouse, cocaine, a couple of women—a shiny, gold ring on his ring finger to keep him from indulging—and a whole hell of a lot of pricey cigars. 

This was no different. He’d get a file, burn it as soon as he memorized the information, and do the hit. It was all Central American shit, so no one gave a fuck. Not the cops, not the government, certainly not the citizens who funded campaigns and work projects. 

Mello, more than anyone else, was understanding. Perhaps, it was his own past. Perhaps, it was an amazing ability to live in ignorance. 

No, no. Of course, Mello knew. Because there was always that look in his eyes. That desire to fight, that desire for power, that kept his consciousness clear. Whatever Matt did, he could understand. Perhaps, with tainted reasoning, but Matt wasn’t about to protest. 

Anyone that could love him in this situation, he’d stay with.  
“I’ll be out for a few days,” he told Mello, only halfheartedly reading the newspaper in front of him.

“What for?” 

“Border patrol.” 

Mello’s lips quirked, fascinated. “You’re shooting Mexicans? Fucking boring.”

Matt laughed through a cloud of nicotine laced smoke. “No money in that shit. Gotta go for security.” Besides, that shit wasn’t his cup of tea. Matt couldn’t give two fucks about immigration. The tasks given to him circulated around drug cartels, and he was more than content with keeping it that way.

Mello hummed, stirring a handful of spices and onions around in the frying pan. “Guess someone’s not getting their coke on time. Yeah?” 

“Exactly.” No point in shooting any of the runners—dime a dozen, easy to replace. Better to take out the guy holding everything up. By now, cops knew how to pull the strings. Knew what shot to call and who was in the way. 

“Is the way it is, I guess,” Mello hummed. As a journalist, it was something completely out of the question. With Matt, he knew too much as it was. And one wrong word, one name, one story, any of that could end with him and his boyfriend in a fucking ditch, bullets in the back of their heads. He knew most patrol officers would let shipments of coke, heroin, marijuana, God knows what else slip right by the border. When it was convenient for them. When _they_ needed their fix.

It was the new guys, bright eyed, tainted with a new idea of justice, that put a knife in the system.

Suck Latin America dry, and throw everyone right back in that tried to escape. “Anything for a fix,” Mello added, and Matt turned a page in the paper. It didn’t matter. Not to Americans. The only immigrants they paid attention to where the ones that made it over the border. The ones that ended up staying. 

“Your article’s in here.” 

“Yeah. The boss said it turned out well.” Mello threw in a plateful of cut up chicken, and looked over his shoulder. “Got a few calls about it, even.”

“You’re always good,” Matt said with a crooked smile, and snapped the paper shut. It didn’t matter. 

In the end, he was just doing his job. 

“You’d be decent,” Mello suggested. As if Matt would enjoy doing that sort of work. That, on its own, was a joke. Anything that had him sitting still was an idea waiting for the trash.

“I’m not too good at writing.”

Mello shrugged. “Don’t need to be, sometimes.”

Matt laughed at that. “I’ll bring a bottle of Jameson back.”

“Get absinthe.”

“That tastes like shit.”

Mello grinned, lips twisting into a half smile. “So?” A green fairy, to wash away bloodstained memories. They’d melt sugar on a spoon, and mix drinks that would send their vision spinning and their equilibrium to a dizzying tumble. Mello would curl up on the couch, and Matt would sprawl himself out on the living room floor, smoking until his throat was a scratched up wreck. 

They’d watch the world burn, and turn a blind eye. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a project I've been working on on and off for a while, and something I'm really excited to share with everyone. Thank you for taking the time to read/comment on it, and feel free to say hi on my tumblr: hoku-soemu.tumblr.com : )


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